Wicked Wager (26 page)

Celeste balled her firsts into the folds of her dress. ‘You're wrong, Lady Busselton.' At least there was some consolation in what she was about to say. ‘Lord Peregrine waylaid me just now to tell me much of what you've already said. Only days ago he proposed that we elope, but then, of course, the unedifying spectacle in which I played my unwitting role changed all that. Still, just moments ago he declared he wished he deserved me and that he couldn't bear the idea that I'd leave England hating him.'

A twitch of the lips and a flare in her eye was the only indication that Lady Busselton was affected by Celeste's declaration. Then the air of jaded
ennui
was back as she shrugged. ‘Ever the charming rake, isn't he? He simply can't bear a beautiful woman to think ill of him. Why, when I proposed the idea all those weeks ago, Lord Peregrine was quite simply taken by the idea of ruining you for a wager, as he had nothing better to occupy his time. He's consumed by the need for diversion as long as it does not impinge on the comforts of life. No doubt the excitement of suggesting an elopement was soon overlaid by the realisation that he'd be shackled with responsibilities for life. Darling Peregrine prefers his pleasure with no responsibilities.' Concern flashed across her face. ‘Do be careful, Miss Rosington. I fear you are a little too close to the edge.'

A spasm of fear tore through Celeste at Lady Busselton's sudden advance, which forced her to step back. Finding no purchase on the jetty for her right foot, she gripped an upright post for balance as she felt the cold air from the river swirl up her skirts.

‘My dear, a lucky save. Are you all right?' Lady Busselton's small, surprisingly strong, fingers, dug into her shoulder. ‘Here, let me help you.'

‘No!' With her back to the water and nowhere to run, Celeste tried to shrug out of her grip, clinging more tightly to the post while trying to edge past on the narrow footing and make for land. She forced herself to speak through her fear, to pretend she was unconscious of Lady Busselton's malice, but her voice wavered. ‘So not only did you propose the wager …?' She had to learn as much as she could, for she
was
going to get out of this situation and she was going to set the record straight. The world would not judge her the way Lady Busselton intended. Lord Peregrine would learn the truth about this evil woman. ‘
You
engineered my supposed seduction by drugging me?
You
blackmailed Raphael and Harry?
You
were behind everything?'

‘Not without help, of course. I wasn't at Harry Carstairs' home, if you recall.' Lady Busselton laid a heavy hand on Celeste's shoulder. ‘I must say, though, that when Harry was finally discovered a few days ago by my servant, cowering in a staging inn where he'd apparently been hiding for two weeks, I was rather persuasive when I suggested I'd only keep Carstairs' and Lord Ogilvy's ugly secret if they implemented a couple of simple little tasks for me.'

Celeste tried to shrug out of Lady Busselton's grasp as she teetered on the edge of the jetty. ‘You truly are evil!' The woman's satisfaction was more than she could bear.

‘Evil?' Lady Busselton looked genuinely surprised. Then her mouth curved into a self-satisfied smile. ‘Ingenious is how I would describe it.'

Celeste saw the woman's attention was now focused on herself. Despite further jeopardising her precarious position, she used the opportunity to deliver her a satisfying slap as she pushed past, staggering a couple of steps towards the shore as Lady Busselton put her hand up to her injured cheek.

One more elbow thrust could see her make good her escape.

‘Oh no you don't!' Lady Busselton's strong, elegant fingers were grasping for her. Celeste tried to sidestep, but her full, hampering skirts made her an easy target and she was drawn back out onto the jetty, towards the edge again, the evil woman's hands upon her shoulders. The hate and malice in Lady Busselton's expression was far more terrifying than her jaded self-possession.

For possessed this woman undoubtedly was: with the desire to punish Celeste for winning the love of the man Lady Busselton had sought to make her own.

‘Let me go!' Celeste thrust out her hand in self-defence, but Lady Busselton was a formidable opponent and Celeste's only experience with her fists was as a ten-year-old in a fight Raphael easily won. The older woman was surprisingly agile, avoiding Celeste's flailing hands as she used her body as a barrier to imprison Celeste between the edge of the jetty and herself.

‘You're more than evil! You're insane!' Celeste gasped as a satisfying counter-offensive knocked Lady Busselton's galleon right out of her coiffure. It landed on the ground between them, and was quickly trampled beneath Celeste's feet as they tussled with each other, hampered by wide, heavy skirts and closely set-in sleeves, which prevented much in the way of arm movement.

‘Look what you've done! By God you'll pay for that, you little slut!' Furiously Lady Busselton responded with a sound blow to the side of Celeste's head, which turned the world dark for a second and completely disoriented her.

They were now closer to the far end of the pier, some three yards from the riverbank, against which the Thames lapped like a hungry creature in the dark. The wood creaked and the little edifice rocked unsteadily beneath them. Lady Busselton's eyes flashed in the light of the moon and her mouth was set in an ugly line as she gained the upper hand, manoeuvring Celeste into a vice-like grip and marching her backwards to the edge of the jetty.

Oh God. Without doubt Celeste knew what was about to happen next and fear flooded her.

‘Why do you hate me so much?' she gasped. ‘I did nothing to hurt you.'

‘You know exactly why. You did not play by the rules and Lord Peregrine fell in love with you.'

‘He didn't! He was only playing with me. If he truly loved me, he'd have championed me like you said. Now let me go!' Celeste sobbed. ‘Surely you're satisfied with what you've done to me?'

‘What? And let you run to your dear Lord Peregrine with your pitiful sob-story about what a dreadful woman I am? I know the effect your simpering smile and heart-rending tears will have. All right, if it's what you wish, then I'll release you, but not so you can go where you
want
to go.' Celeste did not need much imagination to understand the woman's words, uttered with grim satisfaction as Lady Busselton's face loomed up in front of hers. ‘I didn't intend for this to happen but you, my dear, struck the first blow.'

Celeste felt the cold air from the river rising up, the clammy mist like damp fingers stroking the back of her neck as her evil nemesis held her over the water.

‘Lord Peregrine loves me more than he'll ever love you!' In a final burst of energy Celeste shouted the words at the top of her lungs, as she thrust her knee up in a final bid to push back her captor. But the action merely unbalanced her while making no impact on Lady Busselton, protected as she was by multiple petticoats and panniers.

‘Let him prove it now,' were the last whispered words she heard, as Lady Busselton simply removed her hands from Celeste's shoulders.

And then Celeste was falling. Falling with nowhere to go but the dark, swirling river, four feet below.

Chapter Eighteen

Peregrine's encounter with Miss Rosington was more unsettling than he could have believed. More unsettling than the vituperative glance Xenia had levelled on him as she swung away. That, he knew, augured ill.

He turned back to the ballroom with heavy heart. After Nelson's sobering information, he didn't know what to think in regards to Xenia being possibly complicit in her father's crime. He'd known Xenia for ten years. Yes, she was vain and sometimes heartless, but surely not to the point whereby she'd orchestrate a plan so elaborate. One that encompassed blackmailing Carstairs and Ogilvy into ruining the woman who'd in fact risked her very reputation to aid Carstairs when he first fled.

Deep in thought, he trod the winding gravel walkway that led to the house. Xenia's motives in bringing Carstairs to heel, however, suggested this was so, though at the heart of it all was the murder of so many slaves. The mere concept of slavery made him ill, though he conceded his views were coloured by his personal relationship with Nelson.

Not for a moment did he doubt that Nelson was telling the truth when he claimed a cargo of slaves had been deliberately thrown overboard, as opposed to having died of natural causes.

Sadly, Nelson was probably perfectly correct when he argued the crime would be regarded as insurance fraud, not murder.

But it
was
murder. These slaves, men and women, torn from everything they knew and loved to serve the commercial needs of a new white, English slaver, had been relegated to less than the sacks of grain or coffee or whatever other cargo Captain Higgins carried aboard his vessel.

If Captain Higgins was in fact guilty of this shocking crime, then Peregrine was coming to believe, with growing certainty each step he took, that Xenia, who benefited so greatly from her father's largesse,
was
complicit.

He stopped a few yards from the house to gauge the merits of returning to the ball. What entertainment was to be gained when he'd completely lost the desire for life in general? The strains of the string orchestra drifted out of the double doors, overlaid by the soft murmur of guests enjoying themselves, but Perry could anticipate no such enjoyment in the future.

Miss Rosington was leaving and he was letting her go. Ruined. Admittedly, she'd not been ruined precisely on account of him; but just as Xenia was complicit in her father's terrible crime, Perry was complicit in everything terrible that had happened to innocent Miss Rosington and he'd done nothing to champion her.

He was as worthless as his worthless uncle, and no doubt he'd go the same way: defeated by the aimlessness of a life lived for the bottle, the horses and a handful of worthless women.

The only woman who came instantly to mind and who did not fit that description was Miss Rosington, but some compensation Perry would be if he made up with her. After the first flush of enthusiasm, he'd prove to be no better than he always feared. She'd soon wish she'd stuck with her twisted cousin after all.

Perry turned to glance down the hill. The night was still with the waxy moon bathing the gentle slope in a milky glow. He half expected to see Xenia planted in the midst of it all, glaring at him. That would be a frightening sight. Xenia was malevolently creative when it came to concocting punishments for those whom she believed had wronged her. He shuddered. Poor Miss Rosington—though it would seem the man she was soon to marry was just as creative.

He noticed the slope was bare of all but the copse of trees where he and Xenia had briefly had their tryst; turning, he glanced over his shoulder in the foolish hope of seeing Miss Rosington gazing at him with forgiveness in her eyes.

That wasn't going to happen. The viper's bite with which she'd sealed their association left him in no doubt as to her feelings for him.

Well deserved.

Still, he continued to stare across the moonlit-bathed slope for one final glimpse of the woman who continued to haunt his dreams with what might have been.

As he turned back towards the house he heard a cry. An unusually shrill, feminine cry for a ferryman, he reflected, as he retraced a couple of steps to squint into the distance towards the river.

A light in the middle of the murky water drew his eye to a ferryman holding a lantern.

He shifted his gaze. This was not where the cry had issued from.

The cry came again, more urgent now, and the familiarity of the tone propelled him down the slope, scanning the middle distance before he saw the two figures on the jetty.

Two people on a jetty. It wouldn't have been such a remarkable sight had he not observed by their wide skirts and high hair that they were two women and they were alone.

And … dear God, they were fighting.

Fighting with their fists.

He broke into a run as foreboding tore through him. Xenia was not someone he'd suggest Miss Rosington should approach, even chaperoned, at the best of times. But alone, when Xenia had orchestrated Miss Rosington's downfall. Why, Xenia was …

Evil.

Xenia was ruthless. She'd stop at nothing to get what she wanted or to safeguard what she had.

And that, it appeared, was Perry. In making clear his preference for Miss Rosington's fresh innocence as opposed to Xenia's more brazen charms, he'd put Miss Rosington at tremendous risk.

As he drew rapidly closer, the exchange between the two women came in clouds of sound. Xenia's husky accusing tone floated on the dew-laden breeze like the swirling river mist; Miss Rosington sounded panicked.

Oh God, why had he not done more to protect her? He'd thought it punishment enough that he'd have to live with himself and his guilt after she'd gone, but he'd had no idea his inaction would have such devastating consequences. Miss Rosington had landed herself in the greatest peril, but that was only thanks to him.

As the cool wind fingered his cheeks while he covered the distance between them as rapidly as he was able, he assessed the scene for whatever succour might be at hand. The ferryman plying his trade from the far bank was holding his lantern aloft, illuminating the detritus from upstream carried by the fast-flowing current.
It mustn't come to that
, he told himself, urging ever-greater haste as Xenia's clipped, nasal tones cut the crisp air. ‘Lord Peregrine still believes your dear Raphael is the villain; indeed, that your husband-to-be set up that unedifying little spectacle to damn your reputation because he needed to keep you shackled to him.' Her smug satisfaction sickened him.

Was he really such a fool that he'd not been able to see what was in front of his nose? Xenia had orchestrated
everything
. Of course she had, and he'd been too blind and stupid to see it.